#29: I Am Serious, and Don't Call Me Shirley

(Airplane!, 1980, Jim Abrahams, David Zucker, and Jerry Zucker)

I don't know if it's me or Airplane!, but there's something that makes this film impossible to write about. This blog post has been sitting on my dashboard in various incarnations for months, and I think about it literally every day and say to myself "today I will write the Airplane! blog and get out of my funk and start moving on this project again." Of course, inevitably, I get distracted by Facebook and Youtube and the internet in general and I don't actually do that. I just think to myself "tomorrow... tomorrow I will actually write that post." And, once again, that will inevitably not happen and the whole vicious cycle starts again.

You see, dear readers, I am not good at projects. I currently have at least 3 half-finished knitting projects (including 2 scarves and one pair of socks) sitting in my room gathering dust. I also have all the posters that were previously on my walls now sitting on my floor, waiting for the room redecoration that I've been talking about doing since July. I still haven't finished playing The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess or Super Mario Galaxy. I haven't finished sewing a dress that I was planning on wearing to a function that happened about 6 months ago. The long story short is that I don't finish projects well. I never have. It's a character flaw that I know I have and will probably always be fighting against. The problem is that I also seem to have an unexplainable need to start projects, which is probably causing me a lot more problems than my inability to finish them.

However, the thing about this blog, this particular project, is that for some reason I have it in my mind that it is entirely necessary for me to finish it. Unlike that half-knitted sock in my room, I feel that this blog is something that absolutely has to be completed. After this project evolved from a two-person endeavour into a solo mission I became even more determined to keep it going. I knew that it would be hard for me to stick to such a large undertaking, but I promised myself that I would not give up on it. Partly because I'm trying to break that nasty habit of not finishing things, and partly because this particular project means something more to me.

I didn't mention this when I wrote up High Fidelity because it didn't fit in with the format that I chose, but there's one specific scene in that film that kind of speaks to me because it calls to attention something that I often find myself thinking about: the job that I would want if could have literally any job in the world. Well, the truth is that if I had my way I would be writing the film reviews for Rolling Stone. I would love to have Peter Travers's job. That's it. And for me, giving up on this blog would be like admitting to myself that I don't ever have a chance at having that job. I have to keep writing about these 1000 films because, in my mind, that makes my dream that much closer to being real. Of course, in my ideal world I'd be writing Rolling Stone's film reviews in the 1970's when Kubrick was still making films and awesome things like Star Wars were being seen for the first time. Alas, that is not a possibility. However, it is entirely possibly for me to keep writing this blog, thereby making me one baby step closer to being the next Peter Travers.

So, in case you haven't noticed, this post is not about the film Airplane!. I realized today that this post was never going to be about Airplane! and was probably never really meant to be about Airplane!. Airplane! is a great film and an excellent example of satirical comedy. It's frequently ranked as one of the greatest American comedies, and is remembered as being uproariously funny and highly quotable. Leslie Nielsen's role as Dr. Barry Rumack is remembered as one of his best, and my viewing of the film coincidentally fell only a few days before his death, which made it especially poignant. And... that's it. Honestly, that's all I could ever think of to say about Airplane!. So that's all I'm going to say about it.

I've made a lot of promises about how I'm going to be better about updating the blog more frequently (for the 7-ish of you who care) and try to watch more of the weird movies. Well... I'm taking those back. I think my problem is that I try to keep a schedule (which I hate) or watch the weird movies (which I just straight up don't want to do), and I can't do that. It's just not going to happen, now or ever. So I'm replacing it with this promise: I won't give up on this project. Not entirely, not ever. I don't know if I'm making the promise to myself or to my readers (to those of you who've stuck with me, thanks), but I'm making it. I have to. It's the only way. So now I'm going to walk away from this blasted post that gave me the most brutal blogger's block that has ever existed and end by saying that the next post will definitely be about a movie and not about my own introspection. I promise.

#28: The Making of a Great Compilation Tape, Like Breaking Up, Is Hard to Do

(High Fidelity, 2000, Stephen Frears)

I've mentioned that I've been trying to watch some of the weirder movies on The List, and it's probably becoming readily apparent that my valiant efforts have been failing. High Fidelity is certainly not weird, but I recently read the book and I just couldn't wait through Audition and Eyes Without a Face before sitting down to watch the movie again. Also, every since I saw that High Fidelity was on the list I've known exactly how I wanted to write this post. So, in honor of Rob Gordon and without further ado, I present to you, in no particular order, the Top 5 Reasons Why I Love High Fidelity.

1. Jack Black. By no means am I a worshipper in the Church of Jack Black. I can occasionally appreciate Tenacious D, and School of Rock and Tropic Thunder are good entertainment, but I won't run out and see something just because Jack Black is in it. But, seriously, he is one of the best parts of High Fidelity. His dance to "Walking on Sunshine" is now what I immediately think of whenever I hear that song, which generally leads to an internal fit of giggles. And then there's his performance of "Let's Get it On" as the lead singer of Barry Jive and his Uptown Five that occurs at the end of the film, which is simultaneously humorous and heartwarming. Jack Black was clearly born to play Barry, and I'm just glad that he did.

2. The faithfulness to the book. I saw High Fidelity for the first time before reading the book and enjoyed it immensely. Then, this last summer, I finally decided that I should read something by Nick Hornby and settled on High Fidelity as my first choice. I can often be heard griping about how films based on books are rarely as good as their written counterparts, but High Fidelity is not one of those films. Some of the film's pithy dialogue it taken directly from the pages of Hornby's novel, and even though the book takes place in England, it's easy to hear John Cusack's voice reciting Rob Gordon's narration in my mind. Though they have their differences, the book and the film are clearly the same story told through different media, and that satisfies both the bookworm and the film lover who live inside my brain.

3. The pithy dialogue. I used the term "pithy dialogue" above, but it deserves repeating. Rob, Barry, and Dick (played by Cusack, Black, and Todd Louiso respectively) spend most of their time in Rob's record shop swapping snarky comments about each other's taste in music and mocking customers for knowing less than they do. When not in his shop, Rob shares his cynical but nonetheless insightful thoughts about relationships and revisits old girlfriends, all of whom also possess a scathing wit. Rob and his cronies are smug bastards, but they're smug bastards with good taste in music and a flair for sarcasm, which makes them extremely watchable.

4. The soundtrack. Look, it's a movie about a guy who owns a record shop. The soundtrack is really good. Just trust me on this one.

5. John Cusack. I adore John Cusack. I don't know why, there's no explanation for it, but I love him. I've always found him charming and kind of cute in an "aw, shucks" way. On top of that, I've always thought that there was kind of an inherent sadness in Cusack's dark eyes, which makes him a perfect choice to play miserable, self-deprecating Rob. Just like Jack Black was born to play Barry, I believe that John Cusack was born to play Rob Gordon. In fact, I almost believe that John Cusack actually is Rob Gordon, and that he has an autobiographically catalogued record collection in his very sparsely decorated apartment. Of course, I know that's not true, but I like to believe it because it makes High Fidelity all the better.

#27: Gentlemen, You Can't Fight in Here! This Is the War Room!

(Dr. Strangelove, Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, 1964, Stanley Kubrick)

So... my last post lied. I said in the Very Brief Update that I would resume with a belated Halloween post, but on November 25th it feels a little too belated, so I'll just move on with the comedy. There will actually be a few comedies coming up probably, partly because the next Flashback Feature is a comedy I'm particularly fond of, and partly because I just feel like some comedy. So... get ready for that. And now, on with Dr. Strangelove.

I actually watched Dr. Strangelove while I was still in the midst of studying for my GRE. For those of you who don't know, the GRE is the Graduate Record Examination, and is essentially the SAT for college graduates. The long and short of it is that I needed a certain score to even be considered for the graduate program I'm applying to, and I got above that certain score, so I'm happy. However, I achieved that score by going through lots and lots of flashcards (so many flashcards...) and taking lots and lots of practice tests (so many practice tests...), and after trying to cram 1,000 obscure adjectives into my brain it was nice to take a break and watch a nice movie. Fortunately, Dr. Strangelove had shown up in my mailbox, ready to provide me with just the respite from studying that I needed (respite=GRE vocabulary word).

Dr. Strangelove had a few things going for it from the start. First of all, it was directed by Stanley Kubrick, who is quickly moving up my list of favorite directors. Kubrick was not generally known for his comedy (see: The Shining), but Dr. Strangelove ends up working really well. That leads me to the second thing it had going for it: satire. Satire is one of my favorite comedic tools because, unlike a lot of other types of comedy, it assumes that the audience is somewhat intelligent. I appreciate when my movies assume that I'm intelligent, especially when I'm taking practice tests that are repeatedly telling me that I'm not. Finally, Dr. Strangelove has Peter Sellers, who is without a doubt a comic genius. He plays three roles in the film (originally he was contracted to play four, but he hurt himself, so one was cut), including Dr. Strangelove himself. The only word for his performance (performances?) is brilliant.

So my deck was pretty much stacked in favor of Dr. Strangelove from the get go. I knew there was pretty much no way I couldn't love a black comedy directed by Stanley Kubrick that satirizes war and stars Peter Sellers. There was just no chance. And I did love it. The movie is hilarious, and it even managed to surprise me a little bit. For one thing, I wasn't expecting George C. Scott to be as funny as he was. Scott is known primarily for his portrayal of General George S. Patton in Patton, a role which is decidedly unfunny. However, unbeknownst to me, George C. Scott actually has excellent timing and physical comedy skills. Also a surprise: Peter Sellers' characters that weren't Dr. Strangelove. Sellers as the American president was absolutely hysterical. In fact, the entire portrayal of the American political system is uproariously funny. The way it's satirized almost makes it feel like the film wasn't made in the 1960's, but rather in today's political environment. Particularly amusing was the way that the American president spoke to the Russian premier over the phone. They spoke not as world leaders, but as if they were in a precarious relationship and were each struggling not to tread on the other's toes. It's funny and witty, and still surprisingly relevant 46 years later.

I just... loved this film. Once again I've been reminded why I chose to do this project. I have no idea how long it would have taken me to see Dr. Strangelove if it hadn't been for this undertaking. Unlike Cranes are Flying, I'm sure I sure I would have seen this one eventually, but it definitely would have taken me longer. I'm really glad The List goaded me into watching it now because it was a really enjoyable, humorous film that provided an excellent break from incessant vocabulary practice. It also made me feel smart during a week in which I generally felt like an idiot for not knowing what words like "pulchritude" and "malediction" meant. And, since today is Thanksgiving, I will say that for that reason I am thankful for Dr. Strangelove. I am thankful for any movie that doesn't make me feel like a flaming ignoramus.

#24: Well, Nobody's Perfect!

(Some Like It Hot, 1959, Billy Wilder)

Some Like It Hot is easily one of the most perfect comedies ever made. It's has mobsters, cross-dressers, musicians, and dirty old men. It stars Jack Lemmon, Tony Curtis, Joe E. Brown, and Marilyn Monroe. And it was directed by Billy Wilder. I mean, it has a lot going for it. So, even though I had vowed to watch more of the "weird movies" on The List, I decided to revisit Some Like It Hot in honor of Tony Curtis's recent passing. It felt like the right thing to do, and after a week of being sick I decided that I deserved something that was going to make me laugh.

Here's a basic rundown of the plot of Some Like It Hot: two musicians witness the St. Valentine's Day Massacre, and in order to escape being murdered by Spats Columbo they disguise themselves as women and join an all-girls band whose star is Sugar Kane (played by Marilyn Monroe). Tony Curtis's Joe becomes Josephine and Jack Lemmon's Jerry becomes Daphne. Of course, this being a comedy, much of the "dress up as women and escape the mobsters" plan goes awry. Joe ends up falling in love with Sugar, and he carries out that love by pretending to be the millionaire owner of Shell Oil. Jerry, on the other hand, ends up as the object of someone else's affection, which would be just fine if it weren't for the fact that the someone else is a man, and that man falls in love with Jerry's female alter-ego Daphne. Joe E. Brown's Osgood falls hard for Daphne, and Jerry is willing to play along with it in order to reap the benefits of being loved by a millionaire. Then, if that's not complicated enough, Spats and his gang all show up at their hotel and Joe and Jerry must escape, all with the added trouble of dealing with their respective paramours.

I usually try to avoid plot synopses in these posts unless I'm writing about a movie that I expect few people to have seen or if the plot is especially complicated. Some Like It Hot has neither of those problems. I expect most people to have seen it, and the plot is definitely not that complicated. In this instance I pretty much just used the plot synopsis to take up space. That may seem shameless, but the truth is this: I don't have a whole lot to say about Some Like It Hot other than that it's a great film and everyone should see it. I could ramble on about that for a few hundred words, but that's boring and unexciting, so I just gave kind of a rundown of the plot, even though that's kind of boring and unexciting also. And now I'm rambling on about the reason for the plot synopsis because I'm really reaching for things to write about here, people.

I do want to close with this, though. I bumped Some Like It Hot to the top of my Netflix queue the day that Tony Curtis died because I thought it would be an appropriate way for me to honor his passing. I'm not a wild Tony Curtis fan, but I know that he was a very popular actor, and I thought it was a good idea to somehow recognize the end of the life of someone who contributed quite a bit to the American film industry. However, while watching Some Like It Hot, I was struck by something. Tony Curtis was, up until a month ago, the last surviving star of Some Like It Hot. He may have even been the last surviving cast member, but I have absolutely no way of proving that, so I'm going to stick with "last surviving star." Which is incredible. This film was made in 1959, just barely over half a century ago, and none of the stars of the film (or the director, for that matter) are alive anymore.

While Some Like It Hot is definitely a funny movie, I had a seriously sobering moment when I came to that realization. It was an interesting glimpse of human mortality and the impermanence of life, and even though I was laughing like crazy at Tony Curtis ripping of one of Jack Lemmon's "chests," I was kind of happy for that moment of reflection. For me, in a way, the fact that none of the stars of the film are still alive somehow elevates it. It made it distant and unreachable, and for some reason it was that much better for it. Now more than ever it feel like I was watching not just a film, but a piece of history, and it makes me feel good to know that this particular piece of history will live on and make people laugh for many, many years to come.

#8: You Can't Interfere With Destiny. That's Why It's Destiny.

(Election, Alexander Payne, 1999)

I think the main reason I like Election so much is the memory I have associated with the first time I saw it. I was a sophomore in high school, and I went over to my friend Kaitlyn's house after school. She, our friend Kristin and I all watched this together in her basement. I don't necessarily remember, but it may have been the first "R" rated movie I'd seen in its entirety. I do know it was the first time I had seen one without my parents knowing. I know, I was such a rebel at 15.

The benefit, however, of watching it a second time was that, with age, I find that I actually understand the movie a whole lot better. I remember being confused as to why this movie was billed as a comedy. Now I realize that it truly is comedic, just blacker than black. Matthew Broderick is compromise personified as Jim McAllister, the high school civics teacher who is punished by the fates for having the audacity to try to break away from the established norm.

Reese Witherspoon steals the show, though, as overachieving senior Tracy Flick. She's the usual perky blonde that everybody knows from the Legally Blonde films, but Witherspoon gets the chance here to create real depth and emotion in her character. She's manipulative, vindictive, angry, and completely willing to do whatever it takes to win. And, in the titular student government election, Tracy has to go up against ex-football star Paul Metzler (Chris Klein).Chris Klein, unbeknownst to everyone at the time, suffers from what I like to call "Matthew McCanaughey Syndrome." Much like Mr. McCanaughey in "Dazed & Confused," we were all convinced that Chris Klein was merely really good at playing the stupid, big-hearted jock that provided some much-needed levity (I know McCaunaughey wasn't a jock, but I think you get my point). Turns out, the guy can't act his way out of a paper bag. But it works in Election, where he provides the perfect foil to Witherspoon, choosing to be far more innocent than she could ever hope to be.

Yes, Election really does work in making you laugh out loud. But Witherspoon and Broderick really serve as the film's prime examples of the two outcomes should you choose to do whatever it takes to get what you want. In Broderick's case, his world comes crashing down, but he emerges somewhat better off, with a new life and a new job. For Witherspoon, she ultimately gets what she wants, but without the rich, fulfilling life we all want. For Klein, he's just happy he didn't die.

---

It should be said from the start that Matthew Broderick holds a very special place in my heart. Specifically, because Ferris Bueller's Day Off is consistently one of my all-time favorite movies, and my go to movie to watch when I'm home sick or in a particularly bad mood. What can I say, it cheers me up. It must be something about that parade scene. It just gets me. But this post isn't about Ferris Bueller. It's about Election. And Election is decidedly not Ferris Bueller's Day Off. And this is NOT the Matthew Broderick I fell in love with.

I like Matthew Broderick one of two ways. I like him as Ferris Bueller (plucky, tenacious, looking for a good time, and, let's face it, completely brilliant). Ferris is charming and cute, and he achieves what every high school senior dreams of: the perfect day off. The other way that I like Matthew Broderick is the way he was in The Producers. Leo Bloom is meek and cowardly. He spends his days as an accountant and has never done anything remotely interesting...until he meets Max Bialystock. Then all of his dreams of being a Broadway producer come true (after a short stint in prison, of course). Once again, he gets what pretty much everyone wants. He gets to be what he's always wanted to be, despite living most of his life as an average Joe.

Matthew Broderick in Election is neither of those two versions of Matthew Broderick. And that's probably the main reason that I am somewhat uncomfortable with Election. In Election, Matthew Broderick is meek and unassuming like he was in The Producers, but he doesn't triumph. At all. He ends up being defeated by Tracy Flick, who can be found in literally every high school in America.

I can see why Election is considered "good." I understand what makes it appealing, and I can even see that it was something of a subversive film at the time it was made. And usually that would be right my alley, but I honestly just have a hard time getting behind a movie that doesn't end with Matthew Broderick getting exactly what he wants.